Affirmation
by GelibeanH20
Summary: Boredom prompts Sherlock to wonder exactly WHY John puts up with his stupid self, and he doesn't particularly feel like thinking about it. Not Johnlock, but if you squint at it, it could be. Oneshot.


**Author: GelibeanH20**

**Rating: K-K+**

**Pairing: Johnlock, if you look reeeeeeeeal close**

**Word count: 838**

**Warnings: None, except that it's unbeta-ed**

**Title: Affirmation**

**Notes: This is my first Sherlock fic, so be gentle. Oh, and if anyone wants to be my beta (and I'll be theirs) just let me know.**

Rain steadily dripped down on Baker Street. It was the sort of nighttime drizzle that was thin, unpleasant, and clung to you in a damp way no matter what, rendering umbrellas next to useless. It drove everyone indoors, including the world's only Consulting Detective and his only colleague.

"Bored." Sherlock flung a book away from him, having finished it in a matter of a half hour. It thudded against the wall, two inches from the spray-painted smiley face. He sighed again. "Bored." He stretched out on the couch, his neck resting on one arm, his feet on the other. "_Bored._"

John lowered his newspaper enough to peer over it, irritation creasing his brow. "Shut it. Complaining about it won't make it better."

"It could."

John gave an exasperated sigh. "How?"

"I'm slightly less bored, now that you're talking to me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"No."

John gave an almost imperceptible moan, stood and folded his newspaper away. "I know you haven't had a case in a while, Sherlock, but moping around about it isn't helping."

"I don't care." He let out a loud groan. "_BORED. _Bored, bored, bored, bored, _bored._"

John looked around for something to throw at him, but all he saw were books (which he didn't like flinging about), his mug of tea (stupid idea) and his newspaper (ineffective). He resolved to stomp into the kitchen with his newspaper and tea to make himself some toast.

"John?"

He ignored Sherlock pointedly. That man needed to be taught that he couldn't always get what he wanted.

"John?"

Humming a little tune he heard on the radio, he sliced the bread and placed it in the toaster, pushing the lever down. He sipped at his tea, wondering if it was decaffeinated. If not, it was going to be a long night.

"_John?_"

After a few minutes of lazily flicking through the paper, the toaster dinged.

"John!"

He pulled the toast out and smeared jam on it, a smirk quirking his lips.

"JOHN!"

"What?" he snapped. "I'm right here, no need to yell!"

"John. I have a question."

His eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"You heard, I'm not repeating myself."

"Okay," he said slowly, taking his tea and toast into the sitting room, where he plopped down in his favourite chair. "Ask away."

Sherlock had his hands under his chin in the typical thinking position. His eyes were closed. "Why do you do it?"

John gave him a nonplussed look. "Do what? You'll have to be more specific."

"Why do you still stay with me? You could surely find adventure elsewhere. Less… odd… adventures."

John shrugged and took a bite out of toast, chewing thoughtfully. "I don't know. Why don't you deduce it?"

"Nng."

"Well?"

"I want to hear you say it."

John would have been a little touched if not for the sheer irritation and near contempt that dripped from his voice. He said flatly, "Oh. Well. I guess I'll have to think about that one."

"Take your time. No rush. Not all minds operate as quickly as yours truly."

His irritation was starting to mount. He viciously chewed his toast. "I don't know! I'm really starting to question why I'm staying here."

"Huh."

John silently seethed. He took a gulp of tea to wash down the toast, then sat back, trying to relax. He glanced around the flat. At one point, it could have been normal, but you'd never know by looking. Experiments crowded the kitchen table, books and papers covered the floor, there were the bullet holes and the smiley face on the wall, and the cherry on top was the skull that sat grinning from the mantelpiece.

_Well,_ he thought. _It certainly isn't boring._

Boring. Hum. Sherlock's greatest enemy, but it was never one that John had come toe-to-toe with, at least not in the last few years. That's interesting.

Interesting.

That was it.

"On second thought," said John slowly, choosing his words carefully. "I think that the reason I stay here, with you, in particular… I think it's because you're interesting."

"Interesting." It wasn't a question, inviting him to continue. Nevertheless, John took it to be one.

"Yeah," he said, tracing the top of his mug. "You are unlike anyone I've ever met. Obviously brilliant, charming when you want to be, and…" He trailed off. There were a lot of things about Sherlock which were hard to define. "Interesting," he finished lamely.

"Interesting."

"Yes, we've established that."

"Hmm." There was a pause. "So… The body parts in the fridge? You don't mind? Or the late nights of violin playing?"

"I won't lie. I don't like that. But I'll put up with it because I find you interesting, and I know that wherever you are, something fascinating is sure to follow."

"Oh. I thought as much."

He sighed. "Why did you ask, then?"

"I wanted to see if _you_ knew."

"Oh." His gaze dropped to his half-eaten toast.

"You see," said Sherlock as his phone buzzed. "_That_ is interesting." He flipped open the phone. "Thank God, another case."


End file.
